


VIII. COMPLICATED

by ghostfacekillmonger



Series: CHUNK. [8]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27881637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostfacekillmonger/pseuds/ghostfacekillmonger
Summary: Chloe says her final goodbye.
Series: CHUNK. [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1476836





	VIII. COMPLICATED

[ _21 Months Ago - Miami, FL_ ]

She couldn’t steady her breathing. 

People started to crowd her, asking if she needed help, or water, an inhaler - but she assertively pushed them all away. She needed space for what was about to happen. 

Chloe had been suppressing the scream in her chest since she got the news last week. 

After too many missed phone bills, they had shut off the line. With her main mode of communication gone, it was nearly impossible to get in touch with her unless she was at work. That fateful night, the manager-on-duty pulled Chloe to the back to let her know her brother had been fatally shot. 

Maceo was gone.

There was never any question of how Maceo’s life would end. That much of his life had always been predictable. Even though the ‘‘when’ came surprisingly later than she expected, it didn’t make it hurt any less. As complicated as their relationship was, Maceo had been a much more consistent caretaker to her than their flighty mother. 

That same night, in an attempt to be considerate, the manager asked if she wanted to leave. And she would have if she could have afforded to miss the rest of her shift. 

So, in the parking lot of the funeral home during her brother’s wake, she finally let go. 

The few cars on the street halted to a stop. Birds paused their song and the waves of the nearby beach stood still to allow her that moment of grief. 

Chloe screamed. And screamed. And screamed until her voice gave out. Until there was nothing left except raspy wailing and fat tears that pooled on her chin. 

The crowd of Maceo’s constituents watched in awe and horror as Chloe broke her body down to the pavement. Surely there would have been bruises on her knees, but her body was numb to the pain of impact. There was no physical sensation. None of the rough concrete or ocean breeze on her skin. Only the deep emptiness of her brother’s absence.

In a rush, the glass doors of the funeral home flew open, and out poured Alma. She and Chloe looked so much alike that people often confused them sisters, not mother and daughter. Alma enjoyed that. Chloe did not. 

Alma wiped her own tears before kneeling down her sobbing child. 

“Chloe, come on, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay…”

Chloe leaned into her mother’s arms as Alma gently rocked her.

“You don’t have to go see him if you don’t want to.”

“I have to. I have to go.” Chloe shook her head and pulled herself from the ground. She staggered a bit in her first step but Alma and one of Maceo’s close friends grabbed her before she lost balance. “I have to make sure he looks good, Mommy.”

Alma thought to object, but she let Chloe walk on while she followed close behind. 

The cool air inside the building immediately enveloped Chloe as she walked in. She rang her fingers together as the small crowd parted to let her through. The mid-tempo gospel music in the overhead speaker was supposed to give her some sort of encouragement or hope. But it didn’t. At all.

She was overcome with dread as soon as she hit the threshold of the room. Alma’s hand rubbed her back as she just stood there and stared at him from a distance.

Chloe let herself take slow, deep breaths as she eyed his casket. It was shiny and black, just like he was. His friends had dollared up and dropped nearly $500 on the flower spray full of lush red roses. She ran her finger across the delicate petals, then down to the silk inlay of the casket.

He looked like himself. He looked like the same young man that waited for her on the couch when she stayed out too long. The father-figure that sat in the gallery at juvenile court. The brother who always said he loved her, no matter how angry he was. 

Vision blurry with tears, she smoothed his lapel and adjusted the gold tie pin she bought for him with the little money she had. 

“Goodnight, bubba,” she whispered before placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “I love you, too.”


End file.
